A Deep Breath
The wind blowing in over the sea was getting stronger. As Roslind stared across the ruined docklands and beyond to the approaching fleet, she could feel her tears streaming back across her face towards her tightly braided hair. She blinked firmly and rubbed them into her cheeks.
The floating tower-ships lumbered ever closer to the shore. Two of the monstrosities and their escort had lurched and heaved their way to the walled North Dock. When the wind subsided, the air was heavy with a bitter smell of scorched, smouldering timbers and burnt flesh. Roslind shifted the weight of the large round shield slung over her right shoulder. It was a little heavier than she was used to, the extra weight from the additional dark-steel needed to make the embossed snarling bear head at its centre. The evening sun hung masked in greying cloud, the edges of which had started to turn a pinkish orange. Along the Dock Walls and just inside them, men were milling in different directions, preparing the defences.
Among the lines of archers on the wall were the crews of fifty evenly spaced small ballistae. Hrókar had told her it was several years since any of the weapons had been fired and some of them were defective with rotted tension ropes, splintered arms or snapped winch levers. The crews were ordered to carry out vital maintenance to make them lethal once more. To help them, scores of craftsmen were fetching or fashioning the components when they had completed setting kindle, tinder and coals for the dozens of drop-pots filled with animal fat or fish oil on the Dock Wall balconies.
The ‘wolf-teeth’ mechanisms had also been taken out of storage and put back in place to the sides of some of the towers along the wall, including the three, triple-portcullis gates of the Dock Wall. Roslind had heard the soldiers rigging the devices, expressing their concerns that some of the wooden frames were rotted and weak, with many spikes rusted, bent or missing.
Other teams of soldiers were outside the wall setting large, sharp wooden stakes at its base or clearing debris from the fires to be used in blockading the riverbanks, piling the rest to restrict the path of the attackers to the wall.
We don’t have enough time, thought Roslind.
“Roslind…is there anything I can do?” said Thorn, gently reaching for the knight’s right arm. Roslind was not yet used to seeing the reinstated cougar, dressed as he was in the upper cuirass and tassets of toughened black leather armour under a cloak of the Night Watchmen.
“Only Oln has the power to change what is happening or what has happened, and yet he does not,” said Roslind. “The ships have not stopped, my father lies dead, and some skull-faced assassin the prisoners called ‘Lady of Death’ has taken his head as a prize. I know from their interrogations that a man named Alfarinn spurred them to violence against harsh taxes and unjust laws, with little or no knowledge they were being used for the larger purpose of invasion. Yet this assassin was able to use their hatred of my father to rally the mob for the second attack on the house, so she could claim her prize. And perhaps because he was in her way or maybe just because she could, she opened Dufan’s throat and dumped him, shield and all, into the brambles. She will be shown the king’s justice for what she has done here today.”
“Across the Shimmering Sea, she is known as Death’s Bride or Death’s Shadow. I have heard stories,” said Thorn. “One was her beauty can stop a man’s heart, so she hides her face from all until it is time to strike. Others say she hides her hideousness, a ruined and torn face a remnant of her days as a slave to a cruel mistress. The only thing I am certain of is how deadly she is. She has been killing people almost as long as I have and she has never been stopped, but we will put an end to her.”
The knight looked at the cougari without expression. Her eyes were drawn to Thorn’s newly bandaged hand, and she saw a wince as he moved his other arm to the battlement wall. “Are you sure you are still able to fight?” she asked.
“Yi mallac dor Fandill,” Thorn said.
The knight gave the cougari a quizzical look.
“An old cougari saying, meant to show defiance to our enemies. The exact translation is, ‘I still have my fangs’.” Thorn made a biting motion to prove it.
The knight nodded and moved her gaze back to the wall. “Still no word of Ulrik?”
“Nothing. At least Habrók returned with news the little one is with the monks in High Rock, thanks to Commander Geist. I knew him as a recruit, one of the finest blade-men I have ever encountered. And with your friend, the hunter, off to protect her, she will be safe through this.”
The thought of Asher came to her without warning. As the soldiers had readied to leave the estate, Asher had re-filled his own quiver of arrows and had acquired a second one. She found him standing ready by the main gates. He had wanted to join the defences with her, but she begged him to leave the city while there was still time. She asked him to find Kitsvanna at the monastery and tell her sister she was proud of her, she loved her, and she was sorry she could not come herself, as she stayed to do her duty to the king and to Aksson.
After a protracted silence from the hunter, Roslind had embraced him and thanked him. As Roslind had turned Solstice to the gates of the estate, she had glanced back to see Asher watching her still.
The knight’s throat tightened with the memory, and she needed to swallow, but her mouth was dry. “Why are they forming up, why do they not just attack us?” she said, her frustration undisguised in her voice. “I am growing sick of waiting here, doing nothing. I feel like if I do not fight soon, I will not be able when the time comes.”
“The attack will start soon enough, just before the tide turns,” Thorn explained. “The landing of troops will coincide with the highest point of the tide to avoid the shore boats being caught on the Fish Hooks. It will also give them more speed as they approach. Until then, we wait.”
“Sir Radsvinn,” said the first commander, encased in a visorless helmet and suit of plate mail with a black and red surcoat bearing the bear claw standard of Aksson. “All the pots are in place, but we will have to resort to boiling water and heated sand in the last few.”
“How does it look on this side?” asked Hrókar. “Have you assessed our chances?”
“Yes,” said the knight, flatly. “We cannot win this fight. The placement of the trebuchets, mangonels and catapults in the turrets along the southern, western and northern walls of the city make it clear Aksson’s defences were set for an attack from a ground force. None of the larger weapons have been maintained along the Southern Dock Wall in the hope the Kraken fleet, the reefs, the cliffs, and the Fish Hooks were more than sufficient to dissuade all but the most foolish of invaders from attempting an attack from the sea.
“I ordered some of the closer war machines to be broken down and reassembled on the Dock Wall, but there is no possibility they will be in place and in working order before the night is through. We need to hold out long enough to use them.” Roslind looked along the mile-long Dock Wall lined with its almost five hundred archers, some preparing arrows with resin-soaked tows, others resting after many hours of effort. “The towers will be devastating when they open fire. The Exile is destroyed and still in flames, our forces are split between the two docks and the forts at Herrnan’s Bluff. We have too few to defend the city, even putting a spear in the hands of every salt miner, tavern owner, elder or child.
“Those who remain are sure to be exhausted from everything which happened this morning and will not be able to hold out for long when the fighting starts. The fact they are still here speaks to their courage and sense of duty, but most are more used to unruly mobs and thieves than an invading army. With the loss of the weapons and arrow cache from the Great Watch House, some of them will be left using farm tools, pickaxes, or shovels to defend the city.”
“They will hold,” said Hrókar. “Your idea of appealing to the council and merchants worked. The Night Watchmen did their job a bit too efficiently and most of the council have been removed from the city. Orazio ul Atok could not be found but Yusten Bolvar is here and has committed his private soldiers. His brother Fharran was discovered beaten, maimed and hung in his own chambers this morning, but Yusten has taken control of his brother’s men and has committed them to Aksson’s defences. Several merchants sold us the service of their men, giving us nearly five hundred additional spearmen.”
“The sell-swords will only stay as long as things are in our favour,” said Roslind. “A dead man spends time, not gold, as the mercenaries say. What of the men from Arnlief and the ships from Sonnerton, the Temple soldiers or the university guards?”
Hrókar shook his head. “We have heard nothing from Sonnerton but a rider returned from Arnlief moments ago.” The first commander paused. “The entire town has been put to the torch. All gone or dead. There was no sign of Sir Olander or his family. A runner arrived from The Seven Pillars University. Skyne sent word that except for a handful, all the university guards who have not fled are to report to the North Dock by his command.
“Grand Gothar Theck sent a messenger to say the Temple has a sanctified duty to Oln to ensure the treasures of the temple are removed from the city and not allowed to fall into the hands of the enemies at our shores. All the Temple’s soldiers have been used to remove the artefacts and relics from the city and they will not be returning. They also have a ship at the North Dock ready to sail.”
“In a time like this, sanctified duty looks a lot like cowardice,” Roslind snapped, forgetting herself.
“I was wondering if the Gothai were going to attend the walls and offer comfort and reassurance to the men,” said Hrókar, a hard edge to his voice. “I had hoped they were simply late, but it seems the Grand Gothar wanted the company of his clergy.
“Part of the enemy fleet was seen breaking away from the main group and sailing for the islands. I can only presume they intend to attack any Kraken ship they find while they are still in port. There are only five ships defending the city, and whoever crews them deserve our thanks and praise for their heroism, but every viable strategy for the city’s defence calls heavily upon the Krakens so, sadly, five ships will ultimately mean nothing.”
“So, you agree then, we cannot win?” said Roslind.
Hrókar examined the face of the knight for a moment. “Augh!” he spat, “we don’t have to win, we just have to fight. The men out there know it, the men here know it. War rears its monstrous head and roars at us all in time. It is up to us to choose whether we let it rip apart everything in its path, or try to weaken it so it may not destroy the next town or city so easily. It is a choice we would rather not make but it is a responsibility we must bear. True, we would prefer to be anywhere else, but for you and I and the brave men and women on these walls and on those five ships, it is no longer an option.
“It is our duty to inflict such terrible injury on this monster that it will think twice about stepping any further, about moving closer to those who cannot defend themselves and trampling everything we have ever held dear. I don’t know who they are or why this fleet has arrived, and I do not need to know. Their intentions are clear. Those who come to our door to kill us are nothing more than pirates. Only their numbers make them worthy of note, and whether we are able to turn them back or not, I will stand on this wall or in those streets and kill as many of them as I can, until either my strength fails me or my life is taken from me.” Hrókar’s voice was loud and could be heard clearly. Roslind noticed some men on the battlements had been paying attention to the barrel-chested warrior.
The first commander noticed it, too, and so he raised his voice. “We stand here in defence of our home and in defiance of those who would take our home from us. There can be no greater display of heroism. Each of us will be a rock upon which their wave will break and go no further.” Some of the gathered men gave a short cheer of agreement in response.
“We will turn this enemy back because it will be our blood spilled, our homes destroyed, and our families enslaved if we do not. Soon enough I may journey to the Sanctified Lands, but not before I have given the Tormentors in the pits of Hel enough souls of the enemy dead to split their fucking stomachs!” Hrókar boomed.
A second louder cheer was raised.
“Sons of Aksson, stand with me and we –” the first commander attempted, but a shout went up from one of the soldiers.
“The North Dock! They attack!” the soldier roared.
Roslind, Thorn, Hrókar, and some of the gathered men rushed to the crenelated wall and watched as two of the tower-ships slung projectile after projectile at the North Dock. Hrókar lifted his spyglass. Spheres were being launched from the weapons at the top of the towers, some of which were on fire. There were also long pointed metal shafts being shot from the huge ballistae of the lower floors of the towers, aimed at the defensive walls of the docks or above the walls at the buildings behind.
Round after round smashed against the bricks of the ten-foot-thick walls. They exploded on the ground or against the buildings in an inferno of white flames which engulfed everything around it.
“To your posts. To your cover!” the first commander roared.
Soldiers ran to their positions as the order was relayed by horn and voice to the sub-commanders, captains, and sergeants along the length of the wall. When he looked again, he could not believe what he was witnessing. The gates of the garrisoned North Dock were easing open and the Temple ship, Canticle, moved beyond the walls and began veering north.
“No, no, no, the damned fools!” Hrókar shouted.
“What are they doing? That ship will be smashed to pieces if the tower gets the bearing of it,” Thorn said.
No sooner had the cougari uttered those words when a shot was launched at the ship from the floating tower closest to the North Dock.